Dark spaces and spectral helpers

As you all know the Plough is not just a business or a team it is a family and I am very proud of that. In these strange times the whole Plough family pull together and get on with what we need to do.

I often write about the people that make the Plough but I was reminded last night that it is not just us that keep the old lady alive. Our very own Plough ghost is here doing his bit and he has clearly been studying.

During the course of the day yesterday two people thought that they saw somebody in the lobby behind the bar when I was the only person working. This happens a lot and is normally the result of lights moving past the window in the back bar or perhaps our ethereal colleague was on manoeuvres.

I was serving a drink at around ten to eleven last night when the till drawer opened in front of me. I closed the drawer, served my drinks and called time as usual then had a look at the transaction log. I should say that it is not uncommon for a wet till screen to ring up multiples of single products on its own, it isn’t common but it does happen.

The obvious thing with multiples of one item is that this is caused by one ‘soft’ button on the touch screen being triggered. The transaction last night was for two pints of cider, again could be a wet key, but then £10 was tendered (causing the till drawer to open). I checked my transactions either side and they were correct so it was not an error on my part.

Based on the assumption that our ghostly colleague had not taken to bringing friends in for a crafty pint I refunded the transaction before cashing up and the till balance was spot on.

So the next time some elderly friend is explaining that they are ‘too old’ to learn some new technology you may want to tell them that there is a ghost in the Plough who has learnt to work and EPOS till!

In other news it would appear that the machine that the optician uses to check your eyes can see further than we ever thought. My optician informed me that I had debris in my tears and I was taken aback.

I knew that the machine could see the back of your eye but apparently it can see into the infinite dark space that used to house my soul. I did have to point out that if there was something in my tears it was probably cobwebs!

We’re back, kinda, and so are you

Well we are one week in to the temporary normal and it is certainly odd.

Firstly I have to say that the amount of love showed to the pub has been wonderful. It is so nice to see the genuine happiness on so many peoples faces when they return to the Plough.

In order to open one of the things that we have to do is to generate a risk assessment. I have produced hundreds of these documents over the years but was immediately hit with complications. When you look at the risk analysis for an activity you need to identify the risk and of an event occurring and the consequence, reducing either of these brings the overall risk value down.

With covid-19 there is no defined risk. What we are actually documenting is the potential risk of creating a situation where transmission ‘could’ occur and where one party ‘could’ be contagious. Having overcome my certainty that this was not the appropriate document for the situation I set about producing it anyway.

The Plough is not a venue that spends significant time at capacity and neither is it one that is run at arms length. The simple reality is that the ‘covid secure’ activities are in the main fluid decisions guided by the situation.

I maintain that I will not trade with plastic screens. For a very bar centric venue this is a step too far and would make the entire opening somewhat pointless. We have sanitiser available, increased sanitation regimes in place and we are asking people to use some common sense.

We have a test and trace system in place despite the fact that the Isle of Wight jungle drums will be far quicker in the event of an outbreak. Because we do not normally run at capacity we have not removed furniture and instead are relying on people to follow the guidance and to do so in a way that makes them comfortable.

The only people who understand their ‘social bubbles’ are those within them and if a group feel safe sat together I fail to see how it is my responsibility to divide them by some arbitrary rule. Surely if 8 people have been together throughout lock-down then separating them in the pub makes no sense.

So, for those of you who have not yet visited, the Plough can be summed up as sanitiser, don’t move the furniture and have some bloody common sense!

How has it affected trade? Obviously it has had a negative affect, that was always going to be the case. The toughest thing at the moment though is acting as pretty much the antithesis of a publican. It seems we spend our whole time making people uncomfortable with rules and conditions rather than welcoming people.

As always the great British public have their own unique take on the whole situation. I have customers who tell me that I am one of the more relaxed venues but then go on to bemoan the rules that we have like petulant children.

I have customers who hug me repeatedly and then bemoan the lack of social distancing. And of course I have the ‘down the road what they do….’ brigade who fail to understand that it is for each venue to interpret the guidance itself.

And then there is the drinkers, alcohol tolerance would make a fantastic dissertation for anyone. There are those who had not touched an alcoholic beverage until the pubs reopened, those who just carried on at home and those who increased. The one thing there isn’t is any guide to current performance.

We have had teetotals drop straight back into it with absolutely no ill effects and we have had those who haven’t stopped taking to it like a car crash. The best of all though will always be those who ‘upped their game’ the session drinkers who ‘upgraded’ to premium during lock-down.  All impressed with their newfound ability to neck 8 pints of 5% they head to the pub and forget that there is an exchange rate.

Drinking 8 cans of Stella at home does not mean that you can do the same number of pints in a pub. At home you are dominantly sedentary, rising for toilet or kitchen breaks and eventually to retire. The pub is a different environment, you are more mobile here, you are more obvious (since you are not in your own home and, perhaps most crucially, you will have to leave at some point.

Meeting fresh air will test the mettle of even the hardest drinker and it is at the point of exit that we see the grand plan come tumbling. The first lung full of fresh air and you know that you are not in the premium brew league.

Nobody remembers that the pub is a wholly different environment to home.

I was meaning to do it – honestly

Having done my chores for the day I thought that it was time for an update from the front, after all some of you don’t get to keep up with it all in person.

As we rush into the last weekend of February Christmas is, at long last, a distant memory and the Summer is approaching whilst my task list remains steadfastly long.

Cutting, splitting, stacking and rotating logs is a never-ending task at this time of year just to keep on top of consumption. The hope is that the Summer will allow me to get on top of this activity at least but I guess the realist in me knows that the Summer tasks will make this a struggle. There is still a mass of painting to do and I am horribly embarrassed that the stain block that I used in preparation for painting some of the ceilings is now over a year old and remains uncovered.

My builder has taken to picking up the small outstanding tasks that he left me rather than just keep nagging me (although I do think that he appreciates that it is not laziness). There is so little usable time in the day that it is quite scary. Gloss paint is a classic example of the publican dilemma in that I can paint gloss only at night, in order to allow it time to dry, so the soonest that I can get the paint out is midnight. Of course the corollary of painting at night is that I am later to sleep and in a worse condition in the morning.

For those who wonder what fills the canyon that is the hours between 07:00 and 11:30 (currently) allow me to share. Firstly there is the routine, orders to be placed, shelves filled, toilets cleaned and replenished. The preparation of the bar itself takes some time with beer mats and drip trays to lay out, seating to replace from last nights clean up and, of course, beer to pull through. The fire also needs cleaning out and rebuilding ready for the day and fuel stores replenished. After some accounting and invoice reconciliation we can get down to the additional task list unless, of course, we have a delivery due and there are at least 3 of those a week.

I would love to say that I have a schedule of additional tasks but sadly it is more a never-ending loop. The pub gets deep cleaned in sections as does the bar and toilets. The office gets vaguely tidied occasionally and I even manage to vacuum upstairs from time to time. Outside cameras need wiping, and floors need sweeping and of course we have to attend to the ashtrays. Whenever possible I try to also target a job from the list, today’s small success was the replacement of two emergency light fittings but within an hour I had replaced the task with a more pressing one to address on a flat roof.

In between all of this I am trying to plan some form of progress. I know that I need more staff for this season and I am regularly in some form of negotiation for fuel, phone, stock or some other service. Then there are the bigger jobs to schedule, the window and wall replacements, roofing issues, gardens and the elephant in the room that is the other bar.

As I have said before, if I look calm just think of the duck furiously paddling beneath the surface. I have always worked at 100 mph but this is something else, so all-consuming that there is not a thought that passes through my mind that does not, in some way, involve the Plough.

The key point remains that I love doing this. I am fiercely proud of the pub and remain privileged to be her custodian but don’t ever think that it is easy. Before writing this today I uncovered my sofa, it has been under a dust sheet since we started the building works in October. Think about that for a moment, my lounge has been empty for nearly 5 months, that is how much down time I get. My reward for this is to keep seeing the little pub grow into the friendly community pub that I knew it could and should be.

In another pub development I have finally, and somewhat reluctantly, declared the pub a child free zone. Having fought long and hard I have to concede that it is just too much trouble to try to regulate families. I am also acutely aware that there is no reason for children to be in an establishment that does not serve food, is not near the beach and has no facilities for children.

I am now considering branching out into medicine, as well as the obligatory counselling, since the swelling and pain are reducing in pinky and he is being cautiously welcomed back into the club. There is a way to go yet but I think I can confidently say that the resultant digit will be no worse than it was before it chose to take a different path to the rest of my hand.

Visits, windows and guns

Well I guess I should start by apologising for the appalling lack of posts, what can I say I have been busy. So the Plough now has two members of staff, the super human party animal that is Nick and the charming yet shy Lucy. My roster skills still suck with staff working quiet shifts followed by me being run ragged but hey that’s how I roll. Nick managed a manic Saturday last week and proudly proclaimed that after two months it is the first time that he has earned his wages! Wages… how serious is that? I have two members of staff… real people who I pay… never felt so grown up*!

Those of you who know me will know what a real achievement it is for me to have staff, people who work for me in my pub. As the consummate workaholic this is tough and many of my regulars know me well enough to smile when I step behind the bar to save a thirty-second wait. On the other side of the equation I know that the opportunity to be landlord rather than barman is one not to be missed and it is certainly what the pub needs.

I was almost overwhelmed to see Steve Till and his Mrs visit over festival weekend. Steve is an ex colleague but also a mate who I have known for years, to have him walk into the pub on a Saturday was one hell of a surprise but also lovely. It is always amazing to see people who are, in reality, having a courtesy visit stay for longer than they expected. As always it is strange to talk to people about my old world, I miss it and certainly miss the people, but it reminds me that this old lady is my life. It is an opportunity to realise that for all of the thousands of air miles, the amazing (and sometimes near impossible) achievements, I have now found my home and this pub will always be that.

To al of the people who ask how or why I do this I have the simplest answer so far. It is 2 am  Guns & Roses are blasting out in the bar and I am, once again, amazed that I am even allowed to do this for a living. Seriously this is my entire job, I cuddle some women, I shake some hands, I randomly insult some people and  I introduce others to some of the most amazing drinks and for that I get to call this wonderful old lady home. There are clearly worst deals out there so no chance of ‘twist’ I am happy to ‘stick’ with my hand.

That seems like pertinent timing, the mention of hand, since I am in some significant level of pain right now. I managed to scrape the skin graft right at the point where the skin graft catches a nerve. The irritation is beyond anything that a human should have to endure but more importantly it is refusing, as always, to heal. So to join the fact that I am now typing some right-handed letters with my left hand due to searing pain I now have a delightfully exposed tendon in the mess that is righty’s scar. Some of you will remember this hole and the pristine white tendon that it exposes, most of you wouldn’t wish to study it. As the crepe paper thin skin tries to regrow the tethering defeats it and the tendon tears back through. It’s a challenge but hey we have seen worse and it’s just day job now really.

To close I will address the question of success once again by comparison to the Ship, a pub that still holds a special place in my heart. I have a picture of the cellar (behind the dartboard) just after Christmas  with the biggest stock of empties that I had achieved. I know that those empties were more than the last long-term tenants had managed and I remain extremely proud to have enabled that level of sales in such a short time. A quick count up confirms that I traded more than that this week, last week, the week before that…, the Plough drinks more than that on a quiet week. This is a truly great pub and I am, once again, truly privileged to hold her keys.

*‘grown up’ can be switched with ‘scared’ at will 

New faces and old praise

Well Tuesday was day one of having staff in the pub, its a day that has taken 9 months to arrive so I think that it is noteworthy.

Those of you who know what a perfectionist I am will. perhaps, understand just what a roller coaster employing staff has been for me. I am lucky that I have been able to find staff by recommendation which has taken away some of the stress of actually selecting someone but it’s still hard going.

Over the last few weeks I have written contracts, signed up with HMRC, started new payroll systems, produced staff training packages and so much more. In fairness the paperwork is the easy bit the complicated stuff is the personal side of things. The Plough is my baby and I am the only person that has been seen behind the bar since I opened.

How do you explain the various eccentricities and foibles that make up the regular trade at the Plough? how do you document the decision-making process that means that one person gets tea but another gets told that we don’t do hot drinks? How do you identify that dry sense of humour that can come across as rude if you don’t understand it? All of which is before things like all dogs having to be on a lead with the exception of Luna who resides on my shoulder.

It felt incredibly strange to see somebody else behind my bar. That is not to say that it felt wrong, it was a nice indication of progress, it just felt odd. Everything that somebody else does takes longer when they are new and they ask what drinks people want when I appear to have learnt them all. As shifts go it was a very quiet one so it was good to see a the new fella making his best attempts to look busy although at times I felt sorry for him. According to the law of Murphy it did, of course, get busier in the evening after he went home.

So that is one of my big hurdles breached, I am now sharing my bar with another person despite the fact that many people thought that it would never happen. The next big step is to leave the pub during trading, something made much easier by the arrival of my amended licence this morning.

My next big push, as we come into the summer season, is to ensure that we retain the sensible adult environment that is the Plough. Whilst the island council is bankrupt they still provide public toilets (just) and public parks the pub however does not. If your children want to run around and cause chaos or you simply want an environment where you can ignore them whilst drinking can I suggest that you use either your garden or a local park.

I must also share what may be the greatest praise that I have received to date. On Tuesday an elderly couple came into the pub and it was immediately obvious that they had been in the trade, it transpired that the fella had retired 15 months ago but was returning to another pub imminently. His partner fondly recalled that she had held the White Lion in Niton which is sadly closed and they recalled other venues that they had held on the island back in the day.

I was told that the pub looked good, my beer was well-kept and I “run a good pub” which is nice to hear along with the conspiratorial “you will do well here”. What really made me smile though, and what escalated this to a compliment of the highest order was what the gentleman said to his partner “Jack would be pleased”. Jack’s daughter was the elderly lady who I met last year just before I opened, the family were here from 1952 into the seventies. How wonderful to hear that the pub is still trading in a style which would be approved of by a landlord here before I was born.

Age, bags & excitement lets hope it brings hot water

Last Thursday I was privileged to have a glass of beer with many of the great and good of the railway industry. This was a further reminder of the unique world that is railway engineering, the great people in that world and the significance of the change. I won’t name everybody here but special thanks has to go to Martin Bright for an appearance in his new-found role as poster boy for retirement. Ignore those adverts for potions that take “years off you” Martin has somehow lost ten years in two weeks, well deserved and reassuring as I too take to the exit.

At home I am continuing the ‘pack one, throw one’ technique that I have always used when moving home. I have not yet left living out of a bag behind as I return to the apartment next weekend before final move on Monday so I have to ensure that whatever I leave here fits in the bag (or the bin). Negotiations for beer supply are still confounding both me and Andrew as we compare notes on the relative performances of our brewery reps. For some reason my paperwork is taking longer than it does up here in Essex but I am sure that is just a reflection on the slower pace of life further South……..

Plumber is now engaged for the Tuesday which is great news as it limits the time that I will be without hot water. This is a significant achievement for me since I have passed a job that I could do myself, at least in part, to a professional trade and also cut a neat, but fair, discount on the job. With the mantra of ‘Return On Investment’ ringing in my ears I have opted to replace the boiler rather than repair. As good as all this progress is it also reminds me that with the stonemason, roofer and plumber engaged the rest of the tasks reside on the list that has my name at the top and time is not my friend. Keep an eye on the blog and you can watch my progress I may even find a tracker to link progress with my slow decline into insanity!

I went for a meal at the old place on Friday and it was a good example of what not to do. She is without doubt a stunning little pub and continues to look great and trade well but the food offer is confused and misplaced. Coupling a very good bar menu with a weak restaurant offer in an environment which cannot offer a restaurant is indicative of somebody in the business pushing too hard for something that isn’t right. This type of prescriptive offer is exactly what I won’t do, and didn’t do when I was there, the pub knows what it wants to be and as landlords our job is to facilitate that. The old girl is doing well but its a shame to see some basics missed that would step her up a level; I know that it is of no impact to me but this is how we view pubs that is just how it is. Imagine going past the house that you used to own and finding that they had painted it pink and made it an eyesore* well we feel the same when we enter old pubs and see inverted 70cc bottles of spirits or cluttered fridges.

For those who are still seeking out the excitement in my posts I can assure you that you are still too early. There is no excitement just a creeping dread as I look at invoices and CapEx plans. Don’t be mislead this is very much what I want to do and I am convinced that I will make it work, but looking beyond the works is an effort in itself. I guess it is similar whichever side of the bar you are on, my days of looking for excitement are long gone and I now drink where I am comfortable and around friends. This is the pub that I want to create and the environment where I want to live, it isn’t excitement that I want it’s the comfort of wandering downstairs to work.

 

*Any similarities to ex marital homes that are still being paid for are entirely coincidental 

Brewers, plumbers and weed grenades

Well as we enter June the panic is setting in again. I am very concerned that I still can’t take a step in the pub without seeing another job to do. This weekend I worked like a dog but, once again, I can’t really recall what I completed. The safe is now rebuilt and operational and the server case is up on the office wall so I now have somewhere to run the cables that I am putting in.

Bar lighting is fixed now and I took the opportunity to remove the flammable rubbish from around the lights. I now have a plan for pool table and machines and have sent one of the licence fees in for this. Further exploration has added to my understanding of the internal water features, it hasn’t helped just added to my knowledge. About three meter cubed of nature’s toughest ivy and brambles were hauled out of the newly discovered void before I realised that I had no means of disposing of them! Luckily my weed grenade* has cleared the adjacent plot so I have piled it there to dry out, next on the list is a garden incinerator.

Plumber tried to commission the heating system this weekend and it has turned into a significantly more expensive exercise than I had hoped. I guess there is no surprise there really, nothing in a pub is simple or cheap. This week’s commercial calls now include plumber and brewery before I get wound into accounts. One minor success was measuring up and gaining an understanding of what I need in terms of furniture. A good job done and, of course, entertaining for those watching me and Andrew pacing out space in his bar.

I picked up the old deeds from the solicitor this weekend and they are a delight. I have deeds back to 1875 when the pub was leased to a couple, well actually a widow and a chap. I know that the pub was in place before that and need to chase the history further back, one day. It does seem rather sad that my purchase is witnessed by a simple entry on land registry website, no italic script, wax seals or tapes in sight.

See what I mean? Doesn’t sound like much does it? But it has been non-stop and even after all of the physical work there was the weekly pile of paperwork to get through.

I did manage to take a break whilst on the little island and it was nice to enjoy the anonymity that I still have. I can sit and observe as Gav in a way that Gav from the Plough won’t find as easy. 

*nature is no match for my belligerent incompetence when it comes to weed control

Those dammed Victorian marshmallows

I thought that I should share the latest update on the current venue; I guess that I hope this is because it forms part of a story that some of you will remember when you sit at the bar!

Firstly an impending end of period target has driven the pub company vendor to push full and final offers on a large number of sales including this one. There are two ways of looking at this, I could say that it if I had been a month earlier it wouldn’t have got to this stage or I could see it as improving the odds of getting a deal done. As Jo is always reminding me, the glass is half full so I am happy with the sudden breakneck urgency. Of course these new deadlines push the trades and surveys in order that I can have some chance of making a vaguely informed offer and time is never as critical for these guys.

Some communication difficulties occurred before my stonemason arrived and even then I was only aware because the agent told me. I had an interesting conversation with the heritage stonemason last night a significant portion of which was spent explaining that I am not English Heritage and I do not have their resources, that said I do want to preserve the stonework as best as I can practically. It would appear that the stonework is in appalling condition and, as expected, has been abused by its pub company owners. Although the popular thing to do now would be to bemoan the corporate greed of the pub company I have a different target, apparently it is all the fault of the bloody Victorians!

The stonemason tells me that after all the big churches were built there wasn’t a great deal of stone available to the Victorians. Faced with an absence of building materials the Victorians discovered a reach seam of green sandstone or, to give it its modern name, marshmallow. This stone is incredibly soft but looks the part so it fuelled the Victorian building boom on the island, but like  toxic mortgage it didn’t have the longevity of earlier materials. So the root of the problem is that some Victorian used cheap stone to build what would, admittedly some years later, become my potential problem I will remember this the nest time I hear “what did the Victorians do for me”.

The problem is not insurmountable, they rarely are, but it does mean that the stone work is unlikely to survive in its current state. The two exposed corners of the building do require complete replacement along with the hideous cement mortar which needs repointing. The facing stonework is likely to be best served by lime rendering since the underlying stone is so soft. Having considered this overnight I can see that this can make a sympathetic repair with the keystones being brought out a couple of inches and the render stippled and left natural. It is important to me that the old part of the building is restored, after all a massive part of the community pub is its history. Having hopefully struck the balance between commercial reality and loving preservation the stonemason is set to prepare some numbers for me today, bated breath doesn’t come close.

The roof work that is required is somewhat more in my comfort zone. Roofs are standard materials priced at relatively standard values and I have quoted them before. In reality the roofs require little more than the “maintenance” that is so beloved of valuation reports. If you are valuing a property for a lender then why not suggest that the roofs require maintenance after all it removes any risk from you doesn’t it?

So there we are, it is all in the maths still but I am a lot closer to having those numbers. Hopefully next week sees MS Excel turning some cells green and I can steam ahead. There is some other interest, limiting the numbers, which I believe is from a developer. I would much rather this project grew back into the happy little pub that it was and took its rightful role in the centre of the community but in a harsh commercial world that gains no points in the competition so its fingers crossed that I will soon be back in my favoured role.

Who captured who?

I had an idle interweb search yesterday, as I am inclined to do. The subject of my search was pubs that have been on the list at some point to see what has become of them.

I started with the Prince of Wales which was a lovely, if somewhat decrepit, building. The Prince was a good size property with parking, gardens and some seven bedrooms. Opposite a royal residence it was held on the remainder of an 800 year lease from the crown estate at a passing rent of £25 paid every 6 months. I rather fancied a cheque book full of stubs marked ‘HRH’ and imagine telling HMRC that you were short because you “had to pay Liz”. There were a lot of issues with the building when I viewed although the potential was clear to see.

An inquisitive finger went right through a ground floor window frame. I was also advised that one particular box seat is never removed because they receive electric shocks from it. This was a real community pub, in a less than flourishing community. When I visited with my son we really struggled to leave having made friends with customers and staff alike. One key feature that amused me was the bust stop opposite. When the school bus dropped off the children would peer in the window and some, finding their parents at the bar, would enter to collect sweet shop money! A lack of trading figures and a significant need for investment meant that my offer did not grab the attention of the PubCo disposal team and I parked it for later review. Shortly after I saw that it had sold and this was the first search to see what had become of it. The premises were purchased by a leisure group whose name is identical to one that seems intent on land banking in my beloved Sandown, not sure if they are one and the same.

The building has been refreshed and the kitchen re commissioned which shows a real investment. On top of this the accommodation has been refurbished into letting rooms each named after a royal child. The old girl looks great and it is clear that real investment has been made, I hope that this is a real future investment and not a ploy to disguise land banking. I wonder if they use the provision in their licence, by royal prerogative, that they may trade throughout the night when fishing competitions are being judged?

Turning to the next pub, the one that demonstrated the dream could be had, I had an immediate hit. The premises are back on the market for a figure that shows my previous offer to be acceptable. The Bonny, you may recall, had issues with parking which, in an area with restricted parking made the site untenable for a single operator. This is a another beautiful building a grade 2 listed former masonic hotel with, as I recall, 8 bedrooms.

When I first looked at this property I fell in love and thankfully the original owner was selling land to the rear. Apparently he had separated the plot when he sold with the intention of building on the tiny plot to the rear. I had draft plans for a small garage and parking for two cars outlined and a solicitor engaged for the conveyance. It is always difficult to purchase two plots separately when they are tied to the end plan but I figured that in the worse case I had to out the land at a later date. I think there was some conversation between the two vendors, the vendor of the land worked in the pub on Sundays, because ‘out of the blue’ I was gazumped on the land.

Some painful negotiations resulted in me offering a best and final against both packages, to be split however the vendors agreed. This presents a legal challenge in conveyancing but I agreed to fund that side of matters. It was a tough and emotive negotiation on both sides but you have to stick to your business plan and stop your heart writing cheques. The vendor chose to take the pub off the market, by this time we were mid summer season, based on the business doing well. I have seen what passes as the books and the business was far from healthy, I suspect that more family support was offered. This is what happens when emotion overtakes business, the summer is a tease that draws you into throwing more of your life and your cash at a failed dream.

Given my current situation I had no choice but to subdue my immediate urge to make an anonymous offer. I know of a parking solution fairly local that would ease the situation if not totally resolve it. I did look at the updated pictures on the agents site and they confirmed that additional family have moved in. They also showed that the trading side is still is eclectic and confused as before. I sat on my hands yesterday, I know that I cannot make a move just now. But this is a slow and difficult market, who is to say that fate has not just started the prologue to the next chapter of my story?

I know that in an odd way this has lifted a dark mood today. Try as I might the journey has been consumed with an undertone of cellar limitations, letting room conversions and bar reorganisation. Above all this is how I know I will achieve my goal, when something consumes you this much it is only a matter of time.

I remember calling Andrew from a local pub to discuss the Bonny and he remarked that I had found my pub. I remember the warmth of the building and I remember feeling at home there. Who is to say whether it us that choose the venue or the venue that chooses us. . . .

A peculiar perspective and funny handshakes

I have written, many times, on the fire that drives me to my next pub. I realised this morning that it is normally the last thing that I think about at night and the first thing that enters my mind in the morning. When I see the weekly bad press surrounding the trade I wonder why so many people entered a trade that they clearly didn’t have the passion or experience for. New taxes and the continuing vilification of alcohol do nothing to subdue my desire; to me these are expected in the UK and are just a part of the trade. 

Two weeks of banking for a good friend whilst he is on holiday does not erode my enthusiasm. I understand that the licensed trade is not the route to financial riches. The thing is that it is the social riches that I seek and not the financial ones. My trips to and from work or the store invariably involve passing pubs and they form a singular focus for me. In the morning I look at these, often imposing, buildings and consider the quiet solitude of the cellar at 5 am. In the evening I count heads in bars and recall the desperate loneliness that occurs when you seem to face a shift behind an empty bar. 

These thoughts are the thoughts of a publican and not just the thoughts of somebody that likes being in pubs. When the industry was in boom and the tied estate considered early retirement and redundancy payments as revenue streams this was not something that they looked for. Most people presented with a busy trading bar will consider that it is an improvement over their industrial or commercial work place. If the ‘happy place’ that you see in the trade is a bar full of people on a Saturday night and a pint in your hand then this is not the trade for you. The true magic of the trade is the sore sticky feet, the aroma of stale beer as you drink your morning coffee. Spending a morning reorganising your cellar to cope with so many empties is proud labour. 

There’s not so many that think this way. There are still those that see every pint served or keg emptied as a financial entry. Like a human calculator they ring every credit through their mental register, they don’t feel the soul of the trade. But there are some, both within and outside of the trade that know the true sweet spots that are in touch with the soul of the trade. Sometimes you come across these people at odd times; my boss is a prime example. I would never have placed him in that group but a conversation about cleaning and restocking after a busy night makes his eyes gleam like a kid at Christmas. 

So to those that awake to see me staring up at their windows. To those that see me counting heads as I walk past their afternoon trade. And to those that notice me checking every price and product location as they serve my pint. I would just like to say that I am not HMRC, not a competitor or a brewery rep but I do love a sticky bar floor with my morning coffee. 

A health update follows for those of you that follow the subject. I am still impressed with the marvellous Dermatix which has reduced the topology of the scars significantly. It does seem that we have come to somewhat of an impasse at the moment because the scars seem to spend a lot of their time irritated but the cream stops them rising. I guess we see what happens when I run out of the product. In summary of the other areas ‘they hurt’. Something seems to reset in my wrists overnight because when I awake I struggle to support my own weight and tipping a kettle is a two handed affair. The background ache seems to have slowly stepped up and is often quite unpleasant but it is interrupted by spells of more significant pain to break the monotony. 

Irritatingly I can no longer spend extended periods typing on the computer because this results in a slow seizure of the wrists. The seizure itself is not such a concern but it results in increased rotation of the forearms and this brings its own pain. I have now perfected a technique for rotating lefty to the point that I can rotate the radius head outside of its ‘track’ in the ulna and lock it. I wouldn’t say this was a party trick just yet but if I can transfer the resulting clunk to a handshake then it has some potential. 

The newcomer to the game is the left shoulder which we now understand to have some form of trapped nerve. Sleeping on it results in the entire thing going dead and taking some time to awaken, interestingly the Engineer in me always wants to stab it just to see if its pretending. It has also decided to take a more active role in the day and is getting quite adept at throwing random pain in at inopportune moments. Whist it is little more than an annoyance I do find that it aches a lot at the end of the day and is increasing my time in a hot shower.